10 Things FanFiction Taught Us
by Sphinxtamer
Summary: "Maybe there was something to be said for that FanFiction nonsense." Arthur/Eames. Rated M mainly for language.


**AN:** Alright, alright. I know. I've been gone for far too long. And when I get back I give you this shit when I promised the final installment of the DLMA series. Which, if you're wondering, is being written and has a title. So there. Anyway, this is just a little thing I've been working on on and off for the past...six months? Yeah. And I'm really not all that happy with it, but whatever. Enjoy.

**10 Things FanFiction Taught Us**

It was years later that Arthur realized his life could have been a lot easier if he'd just read that FanFiction crap Ariadne had always been reading. In fact, there were ten main things he'd learned since visiting the site for the first time.

1) **If**** you ****meet**** someone**** in ****a ****bar**** tonight, ****they****'****re ****the ****new ****boss/team**** member ****you****'****re**** supposed**** to ****meet ****tomorrow.**

Arthur glanced around the dimly lit bar again. The drink in his hand was untouched, there more for show than for anything else. Dom had forced him to come here. Said he needed to loosen up a bit before the big day tomorrow. Because meeting their new forger was such a huge deal. Of course, Arthur assumed that he really just wanted to have the warehouse to himself so he could "experiment" some more with Mal. Arthur chuckled thinking about it. Those two were ridiculous sometimes, sneaking off into the dream world to try strange new things. Things Arthur would rather not think about. He shook his head slightly, forcing the thoughts from his mind as he set his drink back down on the counter. No sooner had he set the glass down than did a man slide into the seat next to his.

"All alone, Darling?"

Arthur whipped around, maybe a little too fast, judging by the amused smirk that rested on the strange man's lips. He looked the man over once, quickly taking in his dark blue eyes, full lips, sandy hair, and garish shirt. His appraisal was not missed by the other man.

"Like what you see?"

He asked with a chuckle. Arthur swallowed hard, annoyance quickly bubbling up inside him. Gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes he turned away from the Brit, hoping he might just go away. He wasn't here for this.

It was only an hour later that a rather drunk Arthur found himself propped up against the alleyway wall outside the club, an unfamiliar tongue shoved down his throat and a warm, insistent hand down his pants.

In the end, it was quick, it was dirty, and it was sloppy, but it was damn good and Arthur stumbled out of the alleyway and into a cab with perhaps the stupidest smile he'd ever had plastered all over his face.

-o-

The next day, a much more irritable, hung over Arthur rushed down the busy urban street to the small café they were meeting at. Cursing his own stupidity, he stopped outside to straighten his tie and dust himself off. It wasn't good form to meet your new team members looking like you'd just run through a construction site.

It was probably worse form, however, to stop dead in your tracks and openly gape at your new –gorgeous, sexy, already intimately aquatinted with- team member.

Clearing his throat, Arthur regained his composure and joined his team at their table with a strict determination not to let last night's events affect his judgment. That resolve was completely shattered by one tiny sentence. It wasn't even more than a greeting, and it had Arthur's entire face going red.

"Hello, Darling."

2) **If**** they ****pull**** your ****pigtails, ****they**** want**** into**** your**** pants.**

It was getting late, the sun had long ago set and the team was packing up for the night. Arthur was moving slowly, still rereading his file as he packed. He didn't notice Eames lingering at the door.

"Darling, I think I just saw a glacier go by. Are you waiting for the next ice age to leave?"

Arthur ground his teeth, finally flipping his file closed as he straightened up, purposely ignoring the forger. Much to his chagrin, however, the older man seemed to take his silence as an invitation to invade his personal space. He strode over to the Point Man and leaned on his desk, his arms crossed across his chest.

"You know, love, your life would probably be a lot easier if you stopped wearing those ridiculous suits. Form over function is never a good choice."

Arthur scoffed, but didn't respond as he slid his laptop into his bag and zipped it closed. With a final look over his desk to make sure he hadn't left anything, he made to leave. Only to find a sandy haired Englishman in his path.

"Eames, I am not in the mood for your shit tonight. Either tell me what it is you want or get out of my way."

He ground out, eyes hard as he glared at the other man. Eames feigned hurt, dropping his jaw open in mock shock as his hand flew up to his chest.

"Oh, Darling, I'm hurt! I meant you no harm!"

He exclaimed, moving out of the younger man's way. Arthur didn't need to turn around to see the smirk that accompanied his next words.

"It's not my fault you're a stick-in-the-mud wuss."

The point man had to bite his lip to keep from responding. What was it Cobb told his children? The bully only continues as long as he gets what he wants- your response.

He stopped at the door to look back over his shoulder.

"Good night, Mr. Ea-"

His farewell was cut short as a pair of –deliciously soft- lips crashed into his. He managed a muffled –and completely manly- squeak of surprise before Eames was gone, leaving a dazed, and mildly confused Arthur in his wake.

"That's all I wanted, love."

3)**Your ****best ****friend ****knows**** you ****better ****than ****you ****do.**

"Oh, Darling, you wound me."

Eames said, smirk firmly in place as he sauntered back to his own desk. Arthur glared holes into his back as he left, once again seething after an encounter with the forger. He was still in this state when Cobb came by, folder in hand. The extractor looked from Arthur to Eames and back again before setting the folder down in front of Arthur.

"You should just tell him."

Arthur started out of his hateful daydream, whipping around to stare at his boss.

"I'm sorry?"

Cobb shook his head once, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"You should just tell him."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in confusion, his dark eyes staring into Cobb's pale ones.

"Arthur, just tell him. That you…you know. Shit, Arthur, just tell him already. You're compromising the team's work by not."

The older man rushed, his hands flying out of his pockets to make short, exasperated gestures as he spoke. Arthur scoffed, turning back to his work.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dom."

And with that, Cobb shook his head and walked away.

4) **The ****person**** you**** hate**** the**** most**** is**** the**** one**** you****'****re ****completely**** in**** love ****with.**

Personally, Arthur hated Eames. Not actively, just when he pestered him or teased him or flirted with him or opened his mouth or took a breath or walked within twenty feet of him. Which was rather often. So, for a good portion of the time, Arthur hated Eames. Hated the way his mischievous eyes twinkled. Hated the way his hair fell. Hated his mismatched, god-awful clothing. Hated his absolutely brilliant plans (because you could never call his single-handed creation of their Inception plan anything but). Hated the way his smile made his insides flip flop like a teenage girl. Hated his stupid jokes. Hated his spot on forges. Hated the way he seemed to just love doing what he did. Hated the glimpse of ink that would peek out from under his shirts on rare occasion. Hated his determination. Hated his courage. He most definitely did _not _have anything other than respect for the man. No, that would just go against all his principles. So his reaction of excusing himself and leaving an amused Ariadne at the lunch table alone after her remark was not one of embarrassment, but annoyance. Because there was no possible way he could have ever "fallen in love with Eames."

5) **Casual**** sex**** can**_** never**_** stay ****just**** casual**** sex.**

They had been going at this for a while now. They'd meet after jobs, between jobs, or really whenever they just needed a release. They never talked about it. Never spoke before, during, or after. It was just sex after all. Right?

Well, it _was_ just casual sex. Right up until it wasn't. Which would be, well, when Arthur _felt_ something. Or maybe it was Eames. No, it was Arthur. And it was said more than felt, but as soon as the words were spoken, they both felt it. And while Eames seemed content, though not unsurprised, with the idea, Arthur freaked out. Not in a loud way. Not in an obvious way. But in a "Mm, nice fucking you again, see you later" before running out way.

It only took three days for the point man to show up on Eames' doorstep, heart in hand. Because despite everything, Arthur had to admit it: feelings were officially involved.

6)**It ****only**** takes**** a****moment ****to ****fall**** in ****love.**

It was cold. Far too cold to be rolling out of the toasty warm bed he was in, but, like always, he wasn't spending the night. As he pulled his pants on, he glanced out the window at the snowstorm raging outside. He sighed, but continued on getting dressed. He was looking for his tie when he noticed someone standing behind him.

"What do you want, Eames? I was just leaving."

He said, shoving aside a stray pillow in search of the black fabric. He could almost feel the low chuckle coming from the man as warm hands gently pulled him upright and turned him around, revealing the tie to be in Eames' hands. He frowned slightly, briefly wondering when Eames had put pants on, and reached for the thing, but Eames stopped him, lightly pushing his hands down and sliding the tie around Arthur's neck.

"You should stay tonight, Darling. It's miserable out."

He murmured as he deftly tied a Windsor knot and tightened it, resting his –burning hot- hands on Arthur's chest when he had finished. Arthur scoffed, just barely managing to repress his smile.

"Flattering, Eames, but I'll pass, thanks."

Eames looked hurt, and, for a brief moment, Arthur almost believed it to be true before Eames cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"Look, love, I don't want you going out in that. Finding a taxi would be hell and I know you don't have a car. You'll freeze to death. Just take the couch tonight. If only to ease my mind."

Arthur sighed, but nodded. It did make sense and it wasn't like he was moving in.

"Fine, but I'm leaving first thing in the morning. I've got a plane to catch."

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Curiosity sparked in Eames' eyes and something else that Arthur couldn't quite place. Taking a deep breath, he prepared for Eames' onslaught of questions. But they never came. Instead, the older man grabbed the extra throw blanket off the bed and took it in to spread on the couch. Arthur followed him, nodding his head once in thanks as he sat down. Eames watched him the entire time, giving Arthur the distinct impression that he wanted to say something, but when he raised a questioning eyebrow, the Brit shook his head and left. Confused, Arthur decided to make nothing of it and slid down under the blanket, trying to get comfortable on the couch. It wasn't long before he'd slipped off into sleep.

The next morning, the smell of coffee woke him up. Checking his watch, he was both confused and relieved to find it was only five. He had at least an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He wandered into the kitchen then, only to find that not only was there coffee, but a full, freshly made breakfast waiting for him.

"Ah, Arthur, you're awake."

Arthur stared at the man standing there in only a –sinfully short- robe before looking down at the table, then back up to Eames. In a moment so shockingly domestic it hurt, Arthur felt his heart explode. It was less than a second later that Arthur realized, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, that it was love.

7) **Your ****best ****friend ****that**** you****'****re ****in ****love ****with ****(but ****likes**** you ****in ****a**** platonic ****way)**** is ****actually ****in ****love ****with ****you.**

Arthur smiled bitterly at Ariadne from across the table.

"It's not like that, Ari. I'm just a friendly fuck to him. I made sure I was."

Ariadne sighed, shaking her head heavily. She'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince Arthur that Eames saw him in a "more than friendly way." Tilting her head slightly, she fixed Arthur with a hard stare, something she'd picked up from Cobb.

"Are you even listening to yourself? He _asked__ you __to __stay_."

She said, shaking a forkful of salad at him. Arthur chuckled before sighing and hanging his head.

"There was a storm. He was only being polite."

She sent Arthur a pointed look.

"Don't give me that, Arthur."

Arthur frowned, forehead creasing slightly.

"He's my best friend, Ari. He doesn't like me that way."

He explained, face serious as he contemplated his lunch.

"Best friend? What happened to hating his guts?"

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head once as though the answer was obvious.

"Things change."

Ariadne rolled her eyes, starting to get fed up with Arthur's teenage behavior.

"Yeah, things do. Including Eames' feelings for you."

Arthur flushed, but once again shook his head.

"Not in the way you're suggesting."

Ariadne, obviously flustered by this point, simply shook her head and gave up, resigning herself to finishing her salad in silence.

-o-

It was two days later that Arthur found himself once again in bed with the forger. He'd been tense and needed to blow off some steam. And if he'd been feeling lonely, well, that had nothing to do with it. And he had most definitely _not_ turned down a perfectly good offer from a handsome young man. And if he had, it had nothing to do with the fact with the man's lips being far too thin or his eyes being far too brown. Of course not. None of that had anything to do with his being naked and sweaty and tangled up with the older man that night. He didn't know for sure why he was there, nor did he care. All he knew at that moment was Eames. Eames' smell, his skin, his touch, his taste. Everything and only him. He was also acutely aware of his own moans. His usual attempts at staying quiet were thrown out the window that night. And although he would never admit it, he had needed this- needed Eames that night.

It was at the end of a particularly breathy moan that it came out, barely above a whisper. He wasn't even aware he'd said it. He, also, was not aware that he said it again, slightly louder, and then again, louder still. In fact, he didn't notice he'd said anything until he'd moaned it aloud in an absolutely obscene fashion as he finally came undone.

"I love you. I fucking love you."

Eames has come slightly after that. And it was with his chuckle that the younger man had finally actually _realized_ just what he had said. Eames was watching him carefully, eyes both amused and wary, with a half surprised, half smug smirk on his lips, as though he was worried of scaring Arthur off. The point man's eyes went wide for a split second before he regained his composure. He cleared his throat, purposefully not meeting the forger's eyes, as he then rolled over and out of bed.

"So, I'll-uh- I'll see you later."

He mumbled as he pulled his pants on, already searching for his shirt. Eames was watching him still, eyes following his movements as he gathered and put on his clothes.

"I'll call you if we get a job. Or if Ari hears back from her extractor friend. But I might get a new phone soon, so you might not know the numb-"

"Darling, you're rambling. Which is incredibly out of character for you."

Eames cut him off, suddenly appearing to smooth down Arthur's shit. Arthur flinched away, causing Eames to recoil slightly. Pulling away from the older man, Arthur made for the door. With his hand on the knob, he paused to look back at a very confused looking Eames.

"Good night, Mr. Eames."

He turned to leave, and was already most of the way out when Eames' voice stopped him.

"Arthur, wait-"

Eames called out, but Arthur cut him off, not in the mood for his sympathy.

"Good _night,_ Mr. Eames."

He said again, before practically running from the apartment.

How could he be so fucking stupid? Eames was his _friend_, nothing more. How could he just let himself say shit like that? Especially when the other guy didn't even feel the same way. He was the fucking _Point __Man_ for fuck's sake. He should be able to keep himself together better than that. He should also have a much broader vocabulary than just 'fuck,' but holy fuck he was so fucked. Royally. And he did _not_ need to hear the pity-laden 'just friends' speech from fucking _Eames_ of all people.

He went straight back to his own temporary place of residence and flopped down on the bed with a groan. Thank god they weren't in the middle of a job- there was no way he'd be able to face Eames in the morning.

Three days later he hadn't hear from Eames, and Arthur was beginning to feel more and more like shit. Maybe he should have let Eames speak his piece. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad. Maybe they could have just laughed it off and gone back to being "friends with benefits," or whatever they called it. And, honestly, he was at fault here. Acting like a teenage girl like he was. How easy would it be to just call up Eames and tell him he didn't mean it, it was all just a stupid mistake? And he'd just been busy dealing with prospective clients the last few days, that's why he hadn't called Eames yet. He could do that. He'd be a coward and a liar, but at least he'd have some of his pride. Or he could just own up to what he had said and hope for the best from his friend. Was it better to be a proud coward or to be brave and heartbroken? He sighed, dragging his hands down his face as he fell into an armchair.

It was all just a stupid false infatuation anyway. A few days away from the man would clear his head, right? Except that he'd already been away for three days. And it was starting to kill him.

"Fuck it. If he hates me, he can find work elsewhere."

He growled, standing from the chair and grabbing his keys as he headed for the door. Five minutes later he was outside the forger's door grinding his teeth as he worked up the courage to knock.

"Jesus, Arthur. What are you, fifteen?"

He muttered to himself as he finally hit his knuckles to the door. It opened almost immediately.

"He- Oh."

Eames' bright smile quickly faded as he took in the sight of the man before him.

"Arthur? You are not who I was expecting to be on the other side of my door."

He said, frowning slightly and leaning against the doorjamb. Arthur ground his teeth in annoyance.

"Can we talk?"

He asked, trying his damnedest not to let his voice betray his nerves. Eames cleared his throat, looking rather awkward and glancing down the hallway twice before nodding and letting the younger man in. Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he brushed past Eames into the small apartment. After he heard the door click shut, he turned on his heel to face the thief.

"Look, Eames, about Thursday-"

Eames cut him off.

"Pet, before you say anything, can I just get a word in?"

Something about the man's tone had Arthur falling silent and nodding. There was a pause then as Eames looked as though he were preparing to give some pre-written speech and Arthur readied himself for the inevitable rejection. Because this was it- it had to be. Finally, Eames looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been intently staring at before and fixed his gaze on Arthur.

"I really liked this- this thing we had, Arthur. It's been great, this whole "fuck buddies" thing we've got going."

He said, forming air quotes around the words 'fuck buddies.' Arthur felt himself deflate. Yeah, this was not going where the small optimistic part of him had hoped.

"Yeah, Eames, I get it. I-"

"Arthur, shut up. I'm not finished."

Eames interrupted again, causing Arthur to frown and cock his head slightly.

"Like I was saying, I really _liked_ what we had. But I've been thinking, and- well, I think, maybe, shit. This is harder than I thought."

He stopped to take a breath, avoiding Arthur's gaze once more.

"Basically, what I'm trying to say is, me too."

He finished finally. Arthur's frown deepened. What? He tried desperately to wrap his head around the statement but came up with nothing.

"What?"

He asked dumbly, face clearly flabbergasted.

"Me too, darling. I-uh- I love you too, I guess."

The older man mumbled, his voice getting quieter with every word. And Arthur laughed.

"You're fucking kidding me."

He exclaimed just before launching himself at the forger and pulling him into a bruising kiss. A small chuckle came from the doorway. A chuckle that, luckily, neither of the men noticed. As Ariadne closed the door she stopped to laugh at her utterly ridiculous friends.

"Told you so."

8)**Saying**** "****I ****love ****you****" ****can ****either ****make ****everything**** better ****or ****everything ****worse, ****sometimes**** it ****can ****do ****both.**

"You're a right self-centered bastard, you know that?"

Eames said, looking up at Arthur, eyes burning. Arthur bit his lip, his fists balling as rage surged through him.

"Well, _Mr.__ Eames_, I'm surprised you've even noticed, what with how much time you spend with your head shoved so firmly up your ass."

He said slowly, anger bubbling with every word. Eames scoffed, turning his head to the side briefly as though slapped. Facing Arthur once more, a bitter, almost malicious smile spread across his face.

"Says the man who was too busy protecting his "investments" to even notice the flowers and home fucking cooked meal!"

Eames bit out, gesturing violently in the direction of the dining room where the table was set and two plates of absolutely delicious smelling lobster sat neglected. In the center of the table was an elegant vase filled with a beautiful bouquet of roses. For a moment, Arthur was so taken aback he had no reply.

"Here I am, trying to do something for you, and I'd bet you, the infamous Point Man of legend, don't even remember what today is, do you?"

Arthur raised an incredulous eyebrow, raking through his mental databases looking for some clue as to what Eames was talking about. With a bit of a shock, he remembered. Their anniversary. Their _one__year_ anniversary. Shit. With a huff, Arthur gathered himself and sneered back at the man.

"Oh, tell me you're not choosing now, of all times, to be such a sensitive fucking _woman._"

He said, intending it to hurt. Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. Eames looked as though he'd been stabbed.

"You're fucking kidding me. _I_'m the woman? You obsess over your clothes, can't leave the house unless your hair's fucking perfect, drag me out to snooty little clubs, go through goddamn near unbearable mood swings and I'm the woman. Arthur, you bottom, for fuck's sake!"

He growled, his hulking build beginning to look far more intimidating as he loomed over Arthur's thin frame. The younger man barked out a sarcastic laugh, and for once, his impressive vocabulary failed him.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself, Eames."

He spat, moving past Eames to the door. He stopped to grab his coat before yanking it open.

"Arthur-"

Eames started, but the Point Man cut him off with a sharp glare. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and started again.

" I was going to say 'I love you,' but-"

Once again, he was cut off, this time by another sharp laugh from Arthur.

"Enjoy your shellfish, Mr. Eames."

He said, turning on his heel and leaving, slamming the door behind him. His keys were still on the coffee table.

-o-

With a sigh, Arthur slid his phone into his pocket. He'd really fucked it up this time. Four days and not so much as a text from Eames. Biting his lip, he took his phone back in hand, sliding his thumb over the screen as he considered calling the man. He knew he'd overreacted. There was no good reason for him to have left like he did, and he knew it. Even still, he couldn't bring himself to make the first move. Eames had started the fight after all. Not to mention the fact that Eames has also overreacted, to the point of crossing a line. So, yeah, they had both fucked up. And maybe it was up to Arthur to right it. If he could swallow his pride long enough to go back to the other man, anyway.

It took him one more day to work up the nerve. Using the excuse that he simply needed his clothes and a decent shower, he made his way back to their flat. Which was actually _his _flat. Eames had simply shoved himself in. Arthur almost chuckled at the thought. But with a sharp shake of his head, he returned to the task at hand. He looked up and found that, somehow, he was already right outside their door. How the fuck had he gotten there? Hadn't he just left? He raised his hand, cursing his own fucking stupidity for leaving his goddamn keys behind. What the fuck was he even going to say? And why was he mentally swearing so much? Taking a deep breath and shoving the thought that he'd done this all before, he swallowed his pride and knocked. For a moment, he heard nothing and began to wonder if Eames was even there. He was just about to leave, taking the silence as a sign that this was a mistake, when he heard shuffling. The door opened moments later, revealing a rather tired looking Eames clad in only some lounge pants and a ratty bathrobe.

"Arthur?"

He asked, voice rough, as though he'd just woken up. Arthur opened his mouth, planning an entire apology speech. But when he caught sight of the other man's eyes, he stopped, mouth snapping shut. He felt sick, like he was about to vomit.

"I love you."

He blurted out, immediately going red and ducking his head. He braced himself for rejection, for the impending door slamming in his face. But instead Eames, the fucking god that he was, chuckled.

"I know, Darling. I know."

And with that, Arthur collapsed into Eames' arms with the knowledge that everything was going to be fine.

9) **Everyone ****has ****one ****true ****love- ****and ****they ****always ****ruin ****everything.**

Barely biting back a growl, Arthur ground his palms into his eyes.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He groaned, glaring at the man standing before him.

"I told you to stay out of this! You'll ruin everything!"

Eames pouted briefly before chuckling.

"Honestly, Darling, you have some trust issues that need addressing."

Arthur scoffed, throwing his arms down and fixing the Brit with a stern look.

"It's not safe for you to be here. Just leave. Please."

He said, his voice growing soft as he spoke. Eames raised an eyebrow curiously, but didn't respond. Nor did he leave. Arthur ground his teeth, swallowing hard, as he looked anywhere but at the forger. Just then, two men burst through the double doors, shotguns in hand.

"Shit."

A minute later, Arthur found himself waking up in a hotel room, Eames laying on the floor beside his chair.

"See? That was all your fault."

Eames smirked.

"I was only looking out for you, love."

Arthur sighed, jumping up from his chair and gathering his things before making for the door.

"Yeah, I know."

-o-

Arthur had been sitting out on his balcony, reading a book when he'd gotten the text.

-_Trouble._

His heart clenched in his chest. What had Eames gotten himself into this time? It was under an hour later that he found himself at the airport, waiting for his flight. Another five and a half hours and he was catching a cab. Thirty minutes later he was pulling up to a coffee house two blocks down from an old warehouse. Five minutes after that, he was pushing the door to the warehouse open slowly, gun drawn.

With a burst of relief he realized there were no guards, just Eames and three other men hooked up to a PASIV device in the middle of the room, all asleep. Upon closer inspection, he found that Eames was actually handcuffed to his chair and had several cuts and bruises on his face. For the second time in seven hours, his heart clenched. Without a second thought, he ran forward, hooked himself up to the device and went under in search of the forger.

Blinking his eyes open, he found himself in the middle of what looked like post-apocalyptic downtown LA. Even for a dream it was freakishly silent. Then, the distant sound of footsteps reached his ears. Drawing his gun, he turned sharply toward the sound. He could only barely make out the blurry figure of a man running towards him, a prominent limp in his stride. As the man got closer, he recognized him as Eames. The men chasing him, however, Arthur did not recognize. Eames was shouting something, but Arthur couldn't quite make it out. The forger had started flailing his arms about with his shouting.

"-me, Arthur! Shoot-"

That was as much as Arthur needed to hear. It took him five seconds to line up the shot, another two to actually take it, before turning the gun on himself.

He awoke to a rather panicked Eames shouting his name.

"Eames- _Eames_! Shut up. I'm fine, I'm here."

He said with a bit of a growl, launching himself up and over to the older man. Eames smiled at him gratefully and nodded.

"Knew you'd come, Darling. Now, if you don't mind, I'd suggest getting the key from that man's pocket."

He said with a nod to a middle aged man across the table from him. Arthur nodded and strode over, quickly locating the key and bringing it back to Eames- whom he quickly freed and lifted up, supporting some of his weight on his shoulder. He half-walked, half-dragged Eames out of the warehouse and onto the street where he quickly hailed a cab. Once they were safely on a plane home, Arthur turned on Eames.

"What the hell was that? I told you not to take that job."

He said harshly, glaring daggers at the older man. Even then, he couldn't quite keep the concern out of his voice.

"I knew you'd have my back, Darling."

Eames said simply, grinning tiredly as he spoke. Arthur ground his teeth, but couldn't stay angry. He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat and pointedly not looking at Eames. A few minutes later he finally spoke up again.

"I'll have you know that you completely ruined my vacation, asshole."

Eames just chuckled.

10) **If**** you ****tell ****them**** to ****go ****away ****and ****leave ****you ****alone, ****they****'****ll ****stay ****by ****your ****side ****forever.**

Sometimes, Arthur was glad Eames was so stupidly stubborn. Shutting his laptop, he looked over his shoulder at the man. Eames had forced his way into Arthur's life over ten years ago, and despite Arthur's near constant nitpicking, complaining, and insulting, he'd stuck around. How many times had Arthur told the Brit to go away? To fuck off and die? To just leave him alone? And the asshole just refused to leave. It seemed like the more Arthur pushed, the tighter Eames held on. Chuckling, Arthur shook his head and made his way over to the couch Eames was sprawled on.

"What's so funny, Darling?"

Eames asked, looking up from the television program he was watching to smile at the Point Man, his eyebrow rising in amusement. Arthur shook his head again.

"Nothing, nothing. Just- Jesus, Eames, we're getting married tomorrow."

Eames laughed, gathering the younger man up in his arms and placing a kiss on his temple. Arthur smiled softly, readjusting slightly to find a comfortable position against Eames' firm side. He couldn't help it; his mind was just obsessed with telling him how lucky he was. There was no proper reason for Eames to still be there with him. For the first five years after they met, all he did was push him away, but Eames had taken the abuse. Eventually, he'd broken in. Maybe it was that kiss. Or maybe it was Dom's help. Or maybe Ariadne's. Who knew? He didn't know why it had happened. Or when. Or where. All Arthur knew was that somewhere over their nearly fifteen year relationship, he had fallen inexplicably, uncontrollably in love with that goddamn man.

Maybe there really was something to be said for that FanFiction nonsense.


End file.
